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"Weird," Mom said, "in what way?"
"You remember Bethany?"
"Of course, I do. She was your first girlfriend."
"Yeah...it's been like four years since I talked to her. But I'm sure that'll change tonight."
"Oh geeze, what have you gotten yourself into?"
"Well," I answered, sighing at first. "The band we're seeing tonight...Bethany's the lead singer. I thought if I took Mia as my date, it might keep Bethany from getting the wrong idea."
Mom snickered. "Oh, I'm sure she'll figure it out. But you might want to wear a cup or something to protect your balls."
"So you think it's a bad idea?"
"It's risky," Mom said. "But I know kids today are more liberal about this stuff. So who knows?"
"Hmm, so if it turns ugly, what should I do?"
"Baby, I'm sorry," Mom said, "I really don't know what to tell you. If you want to grow up and be a man, you'll just have to deal with this on your own."
Unused to Mom being so blunt, her answer left me concerned.
"Is everything okay? You seem upset."
"I know. I'm sorry," Mom said. "I need to get back. We'll talk about it when I get home."
"Talk about what?" I said. "Can't you at least give me an idea?"
I waited as Mom briefly paused, sighing through the phone.
"I'm late," she said, sending a chill down my back. "I should have started before Megan's party. So I'm sorry if I seem a little on edge right now."
Feeling dizzy, I shook my head, shaken with disbelief.
"You missed your period?"
"Like I said, we'll talk when I get home. This really isn't a good time. For now, just focus on tonight."
"Did you take a test?" I asked, refusing to let it go.
Again, Mom sighed. "I bought one. I haven't taken it yet...still dealing with the shock."
"Okay, so what happens now?"
"For now, we go on like usual," she said. "And as much as I hate saying it, I'm going to have to sleep with Doug tonight, just to cover myself."
"Great," I said, shaking my head. "Not exactly a comforting thought."
"I know, baby," Mom said. "If it's any consolation, I'll be thinking of you the whole time."
As we hung up, Chelsea returned with Mia toting huge shopping bags, each loaded with all new clothes.
"Geeze, did someone die? You look white as a ghost," Chelsea said.
"Huh?" I blinked back, stammering, semi-dazed. "Oh, no, I was just talking to my mother. How'd it go?"
"Great," Chelsea said. "We found her a killer dress for tonight. I won't ruin it for you. We also found her some cute skirts, some sexy tops, and I told her she wasn't leaving without some Michael Kors...white pumps, black peep-toes," she said, grinning. "If you want, I'll throw in some pantyhose, no charge. Bring some home to your Mom."
Five minutes later, I handed Chelsea Mom's credit card, after laying at least twelve packages of high-quality, designer pantyhose down on the counter, all of which Chelsea didn't ring up, never batting an eyes, dropping them all in the bag along with Mia's shoes.
Before leaving, Chelsea walked over, leaning and whispering in my ear.
"Call me," she said, slipping me her card. "I want details."
After the shopping spree, I took Mia out for pizza, finding it cute how she took only two or three nibbles, washing them down with Diet Coke. Instead of eating, she seemed more interested in grilling me all about Chelsea, oddly jealous for someone I'd barely met.
Between bites, feeling no shame, I calmly admitted that Chelsea and I did have sex, omitting a few minor details, like fucking her sister, not to mention my Mom. In spite of my purposely vague answers, Mia looked visibly intrigued, eyes leveled, quiet as a mouse, soaking in each word, mentally downloading every graphic image, using her own imagination to fill in the gaps.
Sometime between five and six, after sight-seeing for a couple more hours, I dropped her off back at her dorm, giving her all the time she needed to spruce up, as I went home and did the same.
When I got back, after a hot shower, a few beers, and some high quality bud, fully relaxed, I threw on a gray hoodie over a green Celtics jersey, with a white cap, brown cargo shorts, and black high top Adidas.
Leaving around seven, I decided it wasn't worth risking a DUI, so instead of driving, I walked down to Forest Hills station and caught the subway.
Reaching her dorm, I could hear Mia scrambling around at the last minute, heels clicking behind the door.
"Just a second," she said, hearing my knock. By then, it was almost 7:30.
Waiting outside, hands in my pockets, leaning against the wall, after a minute, I looked up and watched Mia slowly emerge through the narrow opening of her door. Stepping out, her lips barely moved, which along with her equally troubling tendency to look away every half second, led me to wonder if she might have been having second thoughts.
Panged by my conscience, I briefly considered calling the whole thing off, initially reacting to the tension I saw in her face, only to look down and scan her dress, as Mia appeared in front of me like a revelation, with her slim nubile figure stunningly presented in a strapless mini dress, sheer white mesh, slid up over her slender body so tight I could see her rib cage, with gorgeous locks of reddish-yellow hair swirling in loose curls over bare shoulders, leading to a sleeve of see-through fabric, stretched taut across her bra, hugging against her flat stomach, over her narrow waist, stopping short where most mini dresses usually continued, hemline cut above the keyhole where light escaped her closed upper thighs.
"So," Mia said, with a full turn, seeking approval. "Is this hot enough for you?"
My dick answered first, swelling inside my shorts, fully extending in her direction.
Based on a lifelong obsession with my mother, from a young age, I'd always been more attracted to older women, usually brunettes, which made it almost impossible to ever see Mia as my type. Sure, she was pretty, gorgeous, in fact, with two luminous, haunting green eyes; smooth, china doll skin; and the angular bone structure of a starving runway model. Still, from the neck down, her baggy shirts and long, frumpy dresses did nothing to make her figure look any more feminine than mine, which was partly the reason why seeing how great she looked in her new dress made such a profound impact.
The other reason, the reason that hooked me more than anything, was the forethought of Mia's decision to wear pantyhose without me asking.
Noting the direction of my eyes, Mia looked down, lips pressed, shaking her head.
"You hate my legs," she said, sighing with disgust. "It's okay. I've always hated them too. That's why I normally keep them covered. And I know the pantyhose you got are for your mom. But I thought if wore them, it might keep my legs from turning you off completely. Guess I was wrong."
Oh, she was wrong, all right. If only she know how wrong she was.
With a voice in my head screaming, "Thank you, God," I calmly responded with a mild shrug, purposely nonchalant.
"I've seen worse," I said, still staring, unable to look away.
As a true connoisseur, while Mia's legs may have lacked the length and fullness which had first attracted me to Mom. Over the years, I'd learned to appreciate the beauty of legs in all shapes and sizes, Mia's being no exception.
In spite of her standing no more than five feet, weighing no more than 100 pounds, surprisingly Mia's petite stature wasn't a drawback. Somehow, without looking anorexic, her legs actually suited her slight figure extremely well, blessed with proportionate hips and thighs, slender, yet pleasing to the eye, with a choice of pantyhose serving to enhance her shy, youthful innocence, a beautiful iridescent pink.
Having spent many hours in the gym, I could see she also worked hard to stay lean and fit. From her slim thighs down to her baby calves, under her glossy pink hose, every muscle had been beautifully firmed and lengthened from countless hours knifing them up and down in the water.
Finally, I looked down, noticing the height of her heels, four or five inches for sure, thinking ahead to the next few minutes and the distance from there to the subway, wondering how many blocks she could walk before she'd finally complain.
With a mental note to thank Chelsea for helping Mia pick them out, I marveled at the beauty of her new sparkling white pumps, playing off the light, twinkling as if dusted with crushed diamonds.
"Anyway, I meant to tell you," Mia said. "Seriously, your Mom is like annoyingly beautiful. And she's so nice too. It's cool to think she could end up being my step-mom. As much as I love my Dad, it sucks growing up with one parent."
Turning toward her with a smile, as we started our way down the hall, I recognized all we had in common, though I was somewhat distracted by the clacking sound of her heels.
"So, last night, when your father didn't show up for dinner, you seemed like you were kind of upset, but not surprised."
Mia nodded, staring straight ahead. "It's pretty typical. Don't get me wrong, he's a great dad. I know he'd do anything for me. But he's pretty much always focused on work."
Outside, making our way down the street, I lost count of all the guys giving her a once over as they walked by.
"To be honest," Mia continued, heels clacking, with each step along of pavement. "I'm kind of jealous of you and your mom. It's easy to see how much you two love each other...holding hands at the restaurant...it almost looked like you were on a date."
"Yeah," I nodded, keeping it short, instead of accusing her father of trying to steal Mom away. "We are pretty close."
Perhaps it was just the ease of our conversation, yet by the time we reached the station, not once had Mia said anything about walking in her treacherous heels.
Boarding the train, they weren't many open seats, except for two conveniently facing each other.
We were only going two stops. Still, Mia must have been tired from walking, taking a seat between an elderly woman, and a burly, unshaven, middle-aged man, leering the moment she walked in.
Sitting in front of them, I could smell the alcohol, as he leaned over and spoke with his foul breath.
"Nice dress," he said. Mia reached up, covering her nose and mouth.
"Thank you," she said, staying polite, knowing the worst thing to do would be piss him off.
Logically, I sensed trouble. Yet, I'd already looked down between her legs; too busy eying the pantyhose gusset I spotted when she sat down.
As if she suddenly felt naked, Mia reached for the bottom of her dress. Pulling it down, she kicked out, defensively crossing her legs, swishing the hose, sweeping one leg neatly over the other.
Unlike Mom, the act of some random subway rider boldly undressing her with his eyes made Mia appear far from comfortable, tempting me unwittingly, as her leg cross took me from a brief, exhilarating flash up her skirt, to watching her white pump slip down off the back of her foot, round heel popping free, pink nylon molding her high-arched sole, foot twitching up and down, as I breathlessly waited, knowing any moment her white pump would fall off and hit the floor.
Nearing our stop, Mia stood up, denying me the thrill. Yet, turning her back, as I remained seated, provided a perfect chance for me to study her ass.
Round as an onion, high and tight, poked out beneath the mesh, Mia's ass rolled like a speed bump, tempting me to lunge forward and bury my face in it right then and there.
I stood up behind her and moved toward the door, when the train came to a hard stop. Jolted forward, I bumped her from behind, hard-on smashing against her butt, loving the softness, which only lasted a few seconds, stepping out when the doors finally opened.
"Sorry about that," I said, exiting the train.
"Don't worry. It's not a big deal," Mia said, heading for the stairs. "I've ridden the subway long enough. I'm used to it."
"What?" I asked, somewhat confused. "You mean smelly drunks?"
"Well, yeah that too," she said, with an innocent grin. "I thought you meant guys pressing their dicks against me."
Leaving me with no idea what to say, she leisurely walked ahead, where a steep flight of stairs provided me with a second, longer view up her skirt, eyes following the hem of her dress, slowly rising, as she noisily planted each heel, thrilling me with the rhythmic motion of her sleek pantyhosed legs, taking one careful step at a time.
With a few blocks between the train station and the bar, I pulled off my hoodie and politely offered it to her, just to take off the chill. Surprisingly, she turned it down, saying it would clash with her outfit, proving it was more important for her to look hot than protecting herself from hypothermia.
Along Beacon Street, we came to an old, ramshackle building, with six Harleys out front, parked at angle, and boarded windows covered in graffiti. The sign overhead read "Miller's Dugout," with a huge bouncer waiting outside, long beard, black bandana, arms covered in tats.
"Show tonight's 18 or older," he said as I walked up and handed him my ID.
Glancing at the date, the bouncer eyes slowly rose up, falling on Mia, staring hard. With an open smirk, he turned back, voicing his cynicism.
"She with you?" he asked, handing back my license.
"Yeah, she's with me." I slipped the license back in my wallet.
"Five dollar cover," he said holding his hand out.
I handed him a ten. The bouncer smiled, handing back five singles.
"Keep that," he said, smirking again. "She looks expensive."
As we walked in, I faked a smile, leading Mia by the hand.
With no cover and no legal proof of her age, the bouncer's only requirement for Mia's admission was the sight of her showing up in a white, strapless, tube dress, sheer as a wet napkin, bathed in moonlight, with ninety percent of her female anatomy daringly exposed, all of it barely legal, like instant Viagra for any pervert hard up to fuck jailbait.
Inside, we entered a bar filled with ninety percent dudes, most wearing leather, and many with longer hair than the waitresses.
Turning toward the stage, I instantly spotted a familiar face, stunned by a banging body I didn't recognize at all.
The blonde I remembered had jet black hair, with platinum blonde streaks on one side. Beneath the boldness of her smoky black eyeliner, her round, feline eyes quickly transported me back in time, standing beside a second girl, with blonde spikey hair, tuning her electric guitar.
Staring ahead, I was only half-listening as Mia looked forward, noticing Bethany as well.
"Is that her?"
"Yeah," I nodded. "That's definitely her. She looks different though."
"What, you mean like, her hair or something?"
"Mm hmm," I nodded, careful to avoid getting too specific, though apparently major developments had taken place since seeing Bethany back in ninth grade, notably the striking growth of her tits, easily a C-cup, strapped in a black leather vest, pressed in and pushed up, cleavage swelling, with a cross pendant resting between her luscious globes.
Ironically, my woozy reaction to Bethany's shocking new image had less to do with the ease of her standing there, tits spilling out of her vest, and more to do with her rousing fondness for piercings and body art, with the Eye of Horus in black ink tatted on her left arm, and a flaming phoenix appropriately rising from the ashes on her right. Silver rings decorated everything from her ears to her eyebrows, down to her navel, where my eyes traveled, gazing over her short plaid skirt.
Black stockings up to her thighs drew my eyes toward her legs, toned, sturdy, hard as a stripper, sculpted by months on stage, perfectly lengthened by the height of her chunky black platform heels.
Like a head on collision with my soul mate, I started weaving, praying not to stumble, hoping the din surrounding us would be loud enough to drown out the thunderous pounding in my chest.
Amidst the haze of darkness and smoke, surrounded by patrons dressed in black, the stark white contrast of Mia's dress shifted attention toward us like a spotlight.
Within seconds, Bethany sneered, Mia lined squarely in her sights, eyes slitting, filled with contempt, slowly scything toward me.
After whispering something to her band mate, I watched as Bethany made a B-line right off the stage.
Pressing up tightly against my hip, Mia squeezed my hand, bracing as Bethany boldly marched over, visibly nonplussed.
Through a plastic grin, Bethany wasted no time mincing words.
"Wow. Long time, no see," she said, in a voice huskier than I remembered. "Who's this?"
The awkward burden of introductions painfully fell on my shoulders, as each woman stood there and sized each other up, regarding each other over thin smiles.
"Nice to meet you," said Bethany, no hug, no handshake, cutting directly to the chase. "How long have you been going out?" she asked, turning to Mia, effectively putting her on the spot.
"Oh, um, not long," Mia stuttered. "We actually met last night."
Arching her back, Bethany asserted herself, tits propped, arms folded, pushing more cleavage up.
"No shit?" she said, shooting me a look. "And you brought her to meet your ex-girlfriend on your second date?" she asked, eyes opening expectantly.
"Well, technically, it's our first date."
"Hmm, same old Chris," she said, shaking her head. "Guess that shouldn't surprise me. Does she know about Kendra?"
"Like I said, it's only our first date. We haven't gotten that far yet."
"Right," Bethany nodded, rolling her eyes. "Well, that'll be good. Anyway, you should stick around after the show. I'd love to catch up."
On that note, Bethany turned back, joining her band, leaving Mia and I awkwardly standing there together, moments before the opening set.
In my opinion, despite the venue, her band was incredibly good, choosing a blend of familiar covers, with their own original material.
Above all, Bethany stood out as the main attraction. I'd always known she could sing. What I didn't know was her natural ability to captivate an audience, gracefully shifting from belting out raw, emotional lyrics, with hauntingly perfect pitch, to preening and gyrating, working the crowd, completely owning the stage.
At one point, during her soulful cover of "Bring Me to Life," by Evanescence, she looked out and found me watching in the audience, chilling me with words resonating with personal meaning.
How can you see into my eyes like open doors?
Leading you down into my core where I've become so numb
Singing like no one was there but her and I, my blood ran cold, watching her seemingly strip herself naked, heart pouring on stage.
As if that wasn't intense enough, she ended the show with a cover of "Uninvited," by Alanis Morisette, a song I'd always interpreted as a sexual story of cat and mouse, where in this case, Bethany was the hot-blooded woman craving something forbidden, with me in the audience, the stoic left squirming by her unfortunate slight.
Steaming with lustful intention, curling her lips, with suggestive, ironic lyrics about a shepherd needing a shepherd, she sang while purposely staring straight at me.
Letting the audience witness her climax, the show ended with Bethany seized by this hard, thrashing, orgasmic fit, taking her body over like a trance, hair swinging, dropping down, grinding on the stage, leaving anyone who saw it, including me, completely sweaty and out of breath.
Heading backstage, I turned Mia, curious to hear her thoughts.
"So what'd you think?"
"Oh, um, I liked it," she said, staring ahead. "But I can't lie. It did make me sort of uncomfortable watching her sing to you."
I figured as much, so I didn't respond, nearing the band's dressing room.
"Hey," Bethany smiled as we walked in. "So...did you enjoy the show?"
